Steam
by KindOfAGirl
Summary: It's been a long night, and sometimes a long, hot shower is just what the doctor ordered. Cloud/Tifa, originally written for Springkink on Livejournal.


Title: Steam  
Fandom: Final Fantasy 7  
Pairing: Cloud/Tifa  
Prompt: "slo-o-o-o-ow shower sex. Extra points if Cloud's epic spikes fall flat."  
Rating: Soft R

No matter what Cid and Shera say about prudent investments, Tifa will always say that the extra-large "bathtub-shower-hottub-amalgam-thingamajinger" (Yuffie's term for the monstrosity), with the ledge on one side that was wide enough to sit on and the dark blue tiles and the seven different knobs for everything from water temperature to hot-tub jets to radio station, was the best thing they ever bought. Especially at times like this, after a long night of drunken lunatics at the bar, and a long morning of cleaning up broken glasses and spilled beer and putting the chairs back together and mopping Shiva-only-knows-what up off the floor. After seeing sunrise from the wrong side, taking out more bags of trash than should logically have fit back behind that bar, and making a mental note to buy another set of old-fashioned glasses because she had a grand total of two left that weren't in shards and more of the expensive gin because the Turks were in earlier in the evening and she's almost out now.

Tifa sighs happily and tilts her head back, letting the stream of hot water flow over her hair and down her back. There were very few things more viscerally pleasurable than a long, hot shower after a long, crazy night at work. The feel of the water cascading down over her bare skin, rippling and catching the pale gold light of the sunrise through the high window, helps make up for the smoke and the choking fumes rising up around her all night. It's not exactly that she doesn't like the bar; it feels almost like a little taste of the adventures that she used to have, like running around fighting monsters with the people she loves, even though the only things she fights these days are the unruly patrons who've had a few too many drinks to recognize a pointed request to leave. She runs her hands through her hair and fans it out, slides them over her shoulders, along her sides, up her arms. It's not that she hates it, though maybe she should. She just hates the way it makes her feel - like a collection of recipes for drinks, a professional good listener, a figure that gets them more publicity than the drinks and a left hook that could down a behemoth - instead of an actual person. She takes a deep breath of the steam curling around her; the water and the warmth and the silence make her calm down enough that she won't take out her frustrations on the ones she lives with.

Perhaps it says something about her that she doesn't even twitch when the sensation of water on her back is replaced by that of warm skin, and his arms wrap around her waist. She just smiles and leans her head against Cloud's shoulder. In the year and a bit since they fought the triplets - since he turned Sephiroth into a pile of dust, again - they've gotten most of their issues sorted out, and the first one they aired out was admitting they were crazy for each other. Things still get bumpy sometimes - she worries too much when he's gone longer than he said he'd be, and he has a habit of scaring away customers who come to the bar more to look at her then to drink - but this is more than she thought she could want. She opens her eyes and looks up at him; the steam swirling around them seems gilded by the sunrise, she notices.  
"Long night?" he murmurs as he kisses her neck and traces circles on her stomach with his thumbs.  
"Felt like they were never gonna leave." She turns around in his arms, resting her cheek against his chest and sliding her hands over his biceps. "Finally had to drag the last half dozen or so out at three o'clock, and the mess was unbelievable." He pulls her closer and smiles at the soft, contented little sound she makes.  
"Want me to wash your hair for you?"  
"You know the answer to that question will always be yes," she says with a grin.

This is one of her favorite things in the world - sitting in the steam with her arms draped over his legs, eyelids fluttering as his fingers work patterns over her scalp. He teases her sometimes about being half cat - "You're practically purring, Ti" - and at any other time she'd hit him, but she's always too blissed out at this point to muster the energy that would take. Between the lavender smell of her favorite shampoo and Cloud's hands in her hair, Tifa is about as relaxed as she ever gets. This feeling of _warm and safe and loved_ is more intoxicating to her than anything in the cabinets downstairs.

She's limp and boneless against him, barely standing on her own feet with the water running over her back and his lips feathering over her shoulder, and it takes effort to raise her hands and run them through his soaked hair. He looks so different without the gravity-defying hairstyle she's always had fun teasing him about - he's so much more natural, so much more raw, with choppy, dark blond hair brushing over his cheekbones and getting in his eyes. Tifa loves that she's the only one who ever sees him like that.

He whispers something about "working too hard" and "stress relief" as he pulls her onto his lap, her knees on either side of his hips, and slides a hand behind her neck, drawing her down to him. His kiss is gentle and unhurried, and she practically melts against him, sliding her arms around his neck. She whimpers and arches against him when his fingers slide into her, steam and sweat and arousal making her slick against his hands. Her fingers trail lines through the sheen of sweat on his chest, and he shudders under her when she wraps her hand around his shaft. Cloud barely swallows a groan when she finally slides down onto him, smooth and soft and hotter than any fire spell. The way she breathes his name makes his head spin as she slowly grinds her hips down against him. She shifts slightly, wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders, and kisses him again as his hands slide up her spine, molding her to him.

They lose track of how long they stay like that, rocking slowly against each other, savoring the slow burn that they almost never had time for. Between his trips out of town and her keeping the bar running, it's rare that they get a chance to really concentrate on each other - on the slide of skin on skin, the way their bodies fit together, the feeling of something delayed for too many years finally having the chance to flare - and they relish that chance when they get it. She comes first, trembling and biting her lip to keep from crying out; he follows her a moment later with a tight, low groan and an almost convulsive shudder. They cling to each other, panting, and after a minute he leans back against the wall, pulling her with him. She lays her head on his shoulder, forehead pressed against his neck, and sighs contentedly.  
"Thanks, I needed that," she murmurs after a moment. He chuckles softly.  
"Any time," he says, and kisses her temple before reaching over to turn off the shower. "Come on, let's get some sleep." She gasps, and then giggles as he picks her up and carries her to their bedroom, and a few minutes later, she's dozing in his arms as the morning sun streams through the window.


End file.
